like a man.’
Leighton stared at him, but instead of turning on the pout, Clint saw something shift in his eyes and it translated in his body, in the way he pushed his shoulders back and faced his mother.
Faced his punishment.
Only there was none. Romy looked severe for just a moment before slipping her arms around her son’s shoulders and pulling him close. Then she gave him a gentle shove towards the house. He ran off, every bit the child again. Entirely off the hook.
Clint sighed. Baby steps. Today was a start. For both of them.
He steeled himself against the woman in front of him.
Her hands went up. ‘Don’t start.’
‘With what?’
‘I’ll be talking to him later about going off without permission. I didn’t think this was the time or place.’
He burned to say something about the value of immediate reinforcement but he let it go. He had no right to tell her how to parent. Less than no right. He could clearly see how hard it was for her to discipline Leighton. He was like her Achilles heel. Besides, her full lips were dominating his focus right now. They were moving, and the pink of her tongue peeked in and out tantalisingly. And then they were pressing together. Oh…
‘Sorry, what were you saying?’ His voice was more gravelly than he would have liked. One kiss—not even that—and he was losing all composure. He had to pull it together.
She flushed, and he wondered whether she’d read his thoughts. Or maybe his expression. Well, it wasn’t him that had run away from their encounter the other night. He’d been completely onboard with it.
Then.
Now, it just seemed a patently bad idea.
‘I guess I’ll see you at work sometime,’ she repeated.
Sometime. That was code for ‘not any time soon, thanks.’ Well…If not for getting Leighton home just now, he’d be in the middle of giving Romy all the space she needed. And then some. Getting his life back on track. Back to how he liked it.
Quiet. Predictable. Everything within his control.
He didn’t want Romy and her subtle lavender scent lingering in his consciousness any more than he wanted it lingering in his house. As if he could control either of those things. That made his choice easy.
‘Maybe not. I’ve got some work to do around the tree house. I probably won’t be getting down to the admissions area much.’
At all. It couldn’t be disappointment staining her cheeks. She wanted him far away and he was taking care of that. She should be happy.
‘Oh, okay. Well, then…I’ll see you round, Clint.’
Not if he saw her first. All it took was that hint of gentle confusion in her eyes and the wild thing in him was clawing to be released. Until he could guarantee his stomach wouldn’t lurch when he smelled her and his eyes wouldn’t stray to her when she walked by…
The best defence was absence.
Until he could get complete control of his faculties when she was around. And if that was never…well, then…
He’d work out how to deal with that.
How could she have forgotten what Clint looked like filling a doorway? In only a week?
He braced himself with casual arms on top of the doorframe to the office kitchenette, the stretch pulling his muscles into intriguing angles. If not for the simmering storm in his eyes, Romy’s heart might have lurched for very different reasons.
He was clean-shaven today. And that shirt looked new. He still seemed terrifying.
Beside her, Simone’s jaw dropped in a most unladylike fashion and her coffee mug tilted perilously close to losing its contents. But when he finally dragged his glare from Romy to her, Simone ditched the mug and turned to make a rapid excuse.
‘I…Um…’ Nothing came. ‘Okay, ’bye.’
Clint stepped aside to let her flee and then filled the gap again, effectively cutting off any further escape.
Romy shook her head. She’d been just seconds away from ferreting out the information she needed about where Justin had worked in the US. ‘You really don’t try with people, do you, Clint?’
He prowled in through the door and leaned against the bench, his arms folded across his chest. ‘Good morning to you, too.’
She matched his pose. Minus the casual lean. Her smile was tight, her sarcasm honed. ‘Good morning, Clint. What can I do for you?’ It wasn’t as if he was in the neighbourhood. He’d tracked her down for a reason.
Dark eyes pinned her. ‘How are you?’
They were not seriously going to do this? ‘I’m fine. And you?’
He looked out at her from under very non-army-issue lashes. ‘Okay, let’s start again.’ He nudged the kitchen door shut with his size-eleven boot and shifted closer to her. She shuffled back a little. Straight into the cabinetry. ‘I’m sorry about what happened at my house. I didn’t mean for it to…go that way.’
She read sincerity in his expression. Her shoulders loosened. ‘I meant what I said. I can’t afford to…I can’t see past…some things. But it’s not personal. I don’t hold it against you.’
‘That’s good.’
It was in the change of light in his eyes—from an intense glowing to a loaded gleaming. She narrowed hers. ‘Why is that good?’
‘Because I was hoping…What are you doing Friday night?’
Her eyebrows shot up. Had all that solitude affected his brain? Surely she wasn’t going to have to say it again?
He pushed on. ‘The Hohloch Foundation is having a fund-raiser in town. It’s part of the million-acres habitat-protection program and all the major landowners in the region are expected to go.’ His swallowed nervously. ‘I’d like you to come along. Meet some of the locals. It’s a good opportunity to network.’
There was a strange kind of vulnerability about him. ‘So this is a work thing?’
‘If that gets you there, yes,’ he said. ‘But you’ll need a dress.’
The empathy evaporated completely. She pressed her lips together. ‘You say that like I might not have one!’
‘I mean a dance dress. A gown. It’s formal.’
Her arms crossed protectively in front of her. ‘Just because you’ve never seen me in a dress doesn’t mean I don’t own one! Every woman has a formal dress.’
He raised two hands. ‘Ceasefire, cadet. I just wanted to make sure you understood what kind of a gig it was.’
She knew what fundraiser meant. How many kinds of idiot did he think she was? ‘You think I might embarrass WildSprings? Turn up in my underwear?’
His green eyes flared.
‘You’re the hermit, McLeish. I’d be more worried about what you’ll be wearing.’
He ignored that. ‘So you’ll come?’
‘If it’s a work thing, yes. I’ll be there. In a dress.’
He straightened and turned to release the door. ‘Great. I’ll pick you up at six.’
‘Wait! Why do I need a lift?’
He looked at her, quizzically. ‘We’re neighbours going to the same event, sixty clicks away. You think we should drive separately?’
Nice one, Carvell. Way to appear more competent in his eyes. Think, think. She had to wrestle